


A Single Rose

by mystic_moogle



Series: KH Crack [4]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Castle of Dreams, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Random Pairing Generator, Romance, slightly dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystic_moogle/pseuds/mystic_moogle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And to think the fairest maiden of them all would be left weeping outside the ball."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Single Rose

He finds her sitting atop the cold stone steps of the palace, weeping beneath a moonlit sky. The castle gleams white and cruel against the shadows of his cloak. Her crystalline dress has long lost its shimmer.

She does not notice him in the wake of her sobs.

"And to think the fairest maiden of them all would be left outside the ball." He moves with a soft  _swish_  of his cloak. His voice is deep and velvety, and the hand he places upon her shoulder is warm, very warm. "Whatever is the matter?"

"O-oh, it's terrible!" Cinderella sniffs, because surely she is daydreaming; surely, the man before her is merely a figment of her imagination. "My fairy godmother was kind enough to lend me this dress and her magic, but it seems I've arrived too late to attend the ball."

"I see..." His fingertips dance along the nape of her neck. The touch is feather-light, almost illusory. "Surely, you can find it in yourself to believe again?"

"Oh, I don't know! It's just no use, no use at all..." Her sobs begin to cease as she glances wistfully to the side, where the roses bloom dark and flushed. "I-I suppose... even if I cannot attend the ball, I still have the roses to accompany me. They are such lovely things." She gazes down at her hands in misery, silently bemoaning her fate to lost dreams.

"What if..." His fingertips stop tracing patterns along her soft skin. "I told you there was a way? A way to fulfill the wish so dear to your heart?"

Cinderella chides herself for thinking up such a silly man in the midst of her despair. "Oh no, I couldn't... there's nothing left to believe in. Not anymore. I'll be alright. I—"

Her words are broken by the sound of tall iron gates heaving open, and she lets out a gasp. A hand flies up to mask her astonishment.

"Rejoice, my fair flower." The man offers a sweeping bow once the palace gates are fully opened. "Beyond this door lies a castle of dreams, the culmination of your hopes and efforts."

Tentatively, Cinderella ambles over to the door, ghost-like and spell-bound, as if the vision before her could shatter at the slightest misstep. She peers inside.

A myriad of rich and golden hues floods every corner of her mind. She drinks in dark and gleaming tiles and chandelier sconces. She ogles the array of stoic guardsmen lining the corridors. She imagines herself ascending that vast staircase with avian grace, a delicate swan floating up the stairs with feathers made from stardust.

Cinderella tears her gaze away with a palpitating heart.

"Shall you proceed?" the man asks and she realizes—with a sudden shock—that he is not a figment of her imagination, no not at all.

"Oh, thank you!" she cries, for she is so happy she could worship the ground he walks upon. "It's a dream come true! Whatever can I do to repay you, kind sir?"

He smiles, slow and secretive, and there is a glint in his eyes that she cannot yet see. "A dance," he proposes and steps out of the shadows, "in remembrance of our fleeting time together."

The light from the castle illuminates his features: a charming man with roseate hair and eyes the color of morning glories. She pays no heed to the strange cloak he is garbed in, nor the darkness that lingers at his fingertips; it is her wont to believe in others and he has helped her so dearly.

"Oh, of course! The pleasure is all mine, kind sir." She curtsies, a gesture she has practiced only in the dreary confines of her room. "My name is Cinderella. May I ask for yours?"

"Ah, yes. I am Marluxia, a mere nobody in the wake of your brilliance." The man offers out his hand. As soon as she accepts, he pulls her flush against him with an intimacy she is not yet familiar with. Her cheeks tint a pearly cerise as he leans in and murmurs, "Allow me to whisk you away for just a while longer."

He leads her down the steps and into the garden. And then, the dance commences. With his steely arm around her waist and her delicate hand upon his chest, they dance to the harmonious rhythm of their bodies, a silent tune that only they are privy to in this intimate moment. They twirl around roses and she speaks of her love for them, a remark that elicits smiles and chuckles from the pink-haired man.

Beneath the star-sprinkled sky, the night feels magical and the air tastes sweeter, crisper. The dance comes to a close after an elegant twirl of her glass slippers. A sigh filters through her lips. They ease back into their starting positions, her ivory hand in his gloved one.

"How wonderful that was," Cinderella says. "Though I must be leaving for the ball now, lest the gates close on me again. Oh, thank you for everything, Marluxia."

He is silent as her hand begins to slip from his grasp. And then—without warning—he grips her dainty little wrist like a vice. She gasps at the ice-cold touch.

"Stay with me," he hisses. "I can make you happier than any other man. The prince may grant you endless riches and a castle, but I can give you much, much more. There are many worlds besides this one."

Cinderella is left aghast, stuttering profusely in distress. "B-but, sir! I... I couldn't possibly..."

He opens the palm of his hand, and a rose blooms from nothing. "If you asked it of me, I could bestow upon you an endless garden of roses; the power to control the darkness that feeds upon your light; access to an infinite number of worlds."

She quivers violently and forcibly tears her hand away, frightened of the emptiness in his eyes and the coldness of his touch. "Please, l-leave me alone!"

With a heavy heart, she runs away into the night and toward the golden light of the palace, never once glancing over her shoulder to see the sneer that darkens his face.

The prince finds her and falls in love with her instantly, dancing the remainder of the ball away with this rare and enticing beauty. And soon, Cinderella wills herself to forget about the man that was merely a figment of her imagination. She forgets the color of his eyes and his secretive smile; instead, she fills her mind with thoughts of her adonic prince and his kind words.

Midnight beckons her away from him and the pumpkin carriage whisks her far, far away. She's left one of her slippers, but  _oh_ , how wonderful it was. The prince was so handsome and the ball was so lovely. A dream come true, really.

Cinderella dances down the halls and up the stairs to her room, their song in her head and his smile in her heart. She lifts her glass slipper and admires its sheen, before carefully stowing it away into a box where it can no longer be seen.

_In remembrance of our fleeting time together_.

* * *

 Cinderella awakens in the morning with the sun in her eyes and clouds at her feet. Her stepmother and stepsisters are suspicious, but they don't know, oh, they don't know what a wonderful time she had yesterday.

The grand duke shows up at midday, with a strange little man holding the second glass slipper. Her stepsisters stuff their gargantuan feet into the petite slipper, but they simply  _will not go in!_

An accident occurs and the slipper is shattered. The grand duke crumples to the ground and weeps, devastated, but Cinderella has a secret. She cannot contain her smile as she runs up the stairs; nor can Lady Tremaine.

Cinderella throws open the door and takes out her precious box. She lifts up the lid with alacrity, and—suddenly—her world comes crashing down.

She stares at the box for a very long time. And with trembling fingers, she reaches inside to remove its contents; there are scars from yesterday and blood from where she has pricked herself.

There is nothing but a single rose.


End file.
